In a reply to the thread “Bump in the night = lights on” in strategy and tactics, I left an abbreviated reply about my experience with a night time burglar. This is the detailed version.
Time: ~ 2:40 AM
My wife and I are asleep in our two bedroom apartment. I have been back from First Gulf War for ~2 weeks. I am young (1LT at the time) and in good shape. We had no kids in those days, and slept in the buff. Home defense was a Colt government model .380 in the closet and a Ruger .357 with a 6” barrel stuck between the mattress and box springs.
The doorbell rings repeatedly. I wake up, and figure it is a drunk at the wrong apartment, so I don’t turn on any lights. When I look out the peephole, nobody is there. Seventeen years later, I can’t remember if I carried the Ruger when I went to check the door or not. There were no lights on the apartment, but there was enough light seeping through the cheap plastic blinds from outside to see. I went back to bed.
Before I fell back to sleep, I heard a noise from the second bedroom. This time I know I had the Ruger as I went to investigate. The blinds in the second bedroom were slightly tilted, and I could clearly see an intruder under the mercury vapor light above the window. (The window was somewhat concealed from the sidewalk outside, so the intruder was behind the air conditioner condensers and some shrubs.) The intruder is a white male, approximately 25 wearing jeans with no shirt, and long hair. He had a remarkable resemblance to Pee Wee Herman. Not the clean cut Pee Wee, but the skanky looking arrested in the porno theater Pee Wee. I returned to bedroom and told my wife, who retreats to the closet with the phone, grabs the Colt Gov. model .380 and dials 911. I had to tell her twice to not turn on any lights. I wanted to retain the element of surprise.
I went back to watch the intruder from outside the door of the second bedroom. He is using fingernail clippers to try and pry the weather stripping from the window to remove the glass. My adrenaline is up and my heart is pounding. But he is going very slowly, and I begin to calm down. Within a couple on minutes I am beginning to think “what a dumb so and so... He has no idea what is waiting for him…” I decide that I don’t want to capture this knucklehead in my birthday suit, so I return to the bedroom to put on some pants. In retrospect, this was probably not the best decision, since now both of us were now wearing jeans with no shirt. As I waited, I also began to think about where my bullets would wind up if I shot him. Unfortunately, any misses would wind up in the bedroom of the apartment next door. I began to wish that I had a little less gun than the .357 magnum.
The bad guy eventually broke the window glass. When the window broke, he ran off around a corner about 30 yards away to see if anyone raised an alarm. (It turns out that our neighbor upstairs called 911 somewhere around this time, but the neighbor also did not turn on a light or make any noise.) After a few minutes of quiet, he returned to the window and began removing the glass. My wife later reported that only after the glass broke, did the dispatcher go from bored, “just another prowler in Houston”, to treating the call like a serious priority. It was apparently at this point that the call went out and police cars actually started rolling in our direction.
The bad guy began to slowly climb through the broken window. He was silhouetted in the light from outside, and I stood just outside the bedroom door about four or five paces away. At this point the adrenaline is surging into my system, and I am literally shaking. As soon as he is completely in the room, I flip on the light, cock the revolver and yell "Freeze - Down on the floor!" Yes there was profanity that would make any DI proud, but I am keeping it High Road... He looked completely stunned and dropped to the floor. He looked up to me to talk, and I shout "Keep your eyes on the floor; you don't have my permission to look at anything here!" He then begs for permission to use the bathroom, as if anyone in my position would find his request reasonable. I reply that he should go in his pants, because if he moved I would shoot him in the head."
The adrenaline in the situation is intense. The urge to hit him with something was tremendous, and had there been anything handy, I probably would have. I found myself wishing I had not cocked the gun so I could hit him with it, and even considered doing exactly that. You really can't understand the urge to attack if you are not in the situation. Training or no, the urge to beat the snot out of the guy is incredible. Even today, thinking about the situation makes my heart rate increase and I get a bit worked up.
I yelled to my wife that he was down on the floor, and to tell the dispatcher that I had him at gunpoint. I also yelled for her to tell the dispatcher that I was Gulf War veteran, and wasn’t going to shoot him unless he did something stupid. The fact that I was dressed just like the bad guy did not occur to me.
The cops arrived about a minute later. My wife was told by the dispatcher that they were there, to check through the peep hole to make sure that it was police at our door, and to let the dispatcher know that the cops were there before letting them in. (I was not 100% sure why they did that until Scoutsout2645 replied to my earlier post. He stated: “As far as checking to make sure they were cops and telling the dispatcher: I've gone to calls where the homeowner/911 terminal/dispatcher gave out the wrong address for the responding cops. If that's the case they need to get the right location and you don't want to open up for a BG's lookout/getaway driver.”
Only one cop entered the apartment. I was later told by neighbors that five police cars arrived. I only saw one other cop outside. The cop came in, turned his back on me (yes - I am still surprised by that 17 years later) and stepped on the bad guys neck. I turned the Ruger away from the cop and said "I'm going to put my gun away now." The cop said "OK." with his attention still on the bad guy and his back towards me. I went to the kitchen, and put the Ruger on top of the refrigerator. The entire event, from doorbell to the arrival of the police was probably around 10 minutes.
After the bad guy was cuffed, and hauled out, the cop asked if he had thrown anything down when I confronted him. I answered “no, he only had fingernail clippers he was using to pry at the weather stripping.” The cop said “If you don’t have anything I shouldn’t find, I would like to look around the immediate area.” My wife and I are both boring engineers, and have never had any involvement with drugs or illegal activities, so I gave him permission to look around the area, which apparently consisted of under the bed. The cop also stated “I am going to ask you a really stupid question because I have to. Is the person I arrested the guy that broke in your apartment?” He also asked several times if we knew him or if we had ever seen him (we hadn’t.) The cop later asked what kind of gun I had, and chuckled when I told him stating “that probably scared the … out of him.” Before he left the cop advised me that I should have shot the bad guy (this happened in Texas.)
The next day we got a call from a SGT or detective (maybe both, I can't remember) who asked if we knew the bad guy (we still didn’t) and if there was some brand of cigarette butt outside the window (there was, but nobody from the police dept ever came to retrieve it.) The bad guy had confessed to ~40 burglaries. He had been doing it about 10 years, starting in his teens. He was known as the panty burglar, because he always stole women’s underwear.
About nine months later the case came to trial. The bad guy’s lawyer had him all dressed up in a suit with a short haircut and a bow-tie! The resemblance to Pee Wee Herman was again remarkable, except the bad guy’s suit was not too small. When the bad guy saw my wife and I enter the court room, he turned his back to us, and literally backed up the aisle to his seat rather than face us. When we showed up, his hopes were dashed, as they pled guilty. The Assistant DA was an Asian woman who stated to the judge that the bad guy had pled guilty to our burglary, and that the DA’s office felt he had targeted my wife believing she lived alone, that I had recently returned from the war, and that he had confessed to another 40 burglaries. When the judge asked “what was stolen in these burglaries?” the DA puffed up and loudly stated “Women’s underwear!” The courtroom broke up in laughter as all the miscreants in cuffs awaiting their turn in front of the judge began to snicker. I swear that the bad guy shrank about 2” while the bad guys laughed.
The judge gave him 10 years probation, he had to pay a $50 per month probation supervisory fee, pay the apartment complex for the window, and enroll in the Baylor College of Medicine sexual offender’s treatment program. Some of you may think he got off easy, but I was satisfied.
After the trial, the SGT or detective who had called met us in the elevator. He was happy about the result and was happy that I had not shot the guy “when most people would have”
In retrospect: If he had not knocked, if there had not been a light outside illuminating him, if he had broken in faster, used a tool more dangerous than fingernail clippers or if he had not instantly complied with my orders, he probably would have gotten shot. If I had to do it again, I probably would have put on a different pair of pants, and maybe even a shirt. I am not sure I would change any of my other actions. We decided he probably had targeted our apartment, because my wife had decorated our door with a wreath and some dried flowers. It was obvious that a woman lived there. The wreath was down the next day.
Time: ~ 2:40 AM
My wife and I are asleep in our two bedroom apartment. I have been back from First Gulf War for ~2 weeks. I am young (1LT at the time) and in good shape. We had no kids in those days, and slept in the buff. Home defense was a Colt government model .380 in the closet and a Ruger .357 with a 6” barrel stuck between the mattress and box springs.
The doorbell rings repeatedly. I wake up, and figure it is a drunk at the wrong apartment, so I don’t turn on any lights. When I look out the peephole, nobody is there. Seventeen years later, I can’t remember if I carried the Ruger when I went to check the door or not. There were no lights on the apartment, but there was enough light seeping through the cheap plastic blinds from outside to see. I went back to bed.
Before I fell back to sleep, I heard a noise from the second bedroom. This time I know I had the Ruger as I went to investigate. The blinds in the second bedroom were slightly tilted, and I could clearly see an intruder under the mercury vapor light above the window. (The window was somewhat concealed from the sidewalk outside, so the intruder was behind the air conditioner condensers and some shrubs.) The intruder is a white male, approximately 25 wearing jeans with no shirt, and long hair. He had a remarkable resemblance to Pee Wee Herman. Not the clean cut Pee Wee, but the skanky looking arrested in the porno theater Pee Wee. I returned to bedroom and told my wife, who retreats to the closet with the phone, grabs the Colt Gov. model .380 and dials 911. I had to tell her twice to not turn on any lights. I wanted to retain the element of surprise.
I went back to watch the intruder from outside the door of the second bedroom. He is using fingernail clippers to try and pry the weather stripping from the window to remove the glass. My adrenaline is up and my heart is pounding. But he is going very slowly, and I begin to calm down. Within a couple on minutes I am beginning to think “what a dumb so and so... He has no idea what is waiting for him…” I decide that I don’t want to capture this knucklehead in my birthday suit, so I return to the bedroom to put on some pants. In retrospect, this was probably not the best decision, since now both of us were now wearing jeans with no shirt. As I waited, I also began to think about where my bullets would wind up if I shot him. Unfortunately, any misses would wind up in the bedroom of the apartment next door. I began to wish that I had a little less gun than the .357 magnum.
The bad guy eventually broke the window glass. When the window broke, he ran off around a corner about 30 yards away to see if anyone raised an alarm. (It turns out that our neighbor upstairs called 911 somewhere around this time, but the neighbor also did not turn on a light or make any noise.) After a few minutes of quiet, he returned to the window and began removing the glass. My wife later reported that only after the glass broke, did the dispatcher go from bored, “just another prowler in Houston”, to treating the call like a serious priority. It was apparently at this point that the call went out and police cars actually started rolling in our direction.
The bad guy began to slowly climb through the broken window. He was silhouetted in the light from outside, and I stood just outside the bedroom door about four or five paces away. At this point the adrenaline is surging into my system, and I am literally shaking. As soon as he is completely in the room, I flip on the light, cock the revolver and yell "Freeze - Down on the floor!" Yes there was profanity that would make any DI proud, but I am keeping it High Road... He looked completely stunned and dropped to the floor. He looked up to me to talk, and I shout "Keep your eyes on the floor; you don't have my permission to look at anything here!" He then begs for permission to use the bathroom, as if anyone in my position would find his request reasonable. I reply that he should go in his pants, because if he moved I would shoot him in the head."
The adrenaline in the situation is intense. The urge to hit him with something was tremendous, and had there been anything handy, I probably would have. I found myself wishing I had not cocked the gun so I could hit him with it, and even considered doing exactly that. You really can't understand the urge to attack if you are not in the situation. Training or no, the urge to beat the snot out of the guy is incredible. Even today, thinking about the situation makes my heart rate increase and I get a bit worked up.
I yelled to my wife that he was down on the floor, and to tell the dispatcher that I had him at gunpoint. I also yelled for her to tell the dispatcher that I was Gulf War veteran, and wasn’t going to shoot him unless he did something stupid. The fact that I was dressed just like the bad guy did not occur to me.
The cops arrived about a minute later. My wife was told by the dispatcher that they were there, to check through the peep hole to make sure that it was police at our door, and to let the dispatcher know that the cops were there before letting them in. (I was not 100% sure why they did that until Scoutsout2645 replied to my earlier post. He stated: “As far as checking to make sure they were cops and telling the dispatcher: I've gone to calls where the homeowner/911 terminal/dispatcher gave out the wrong address for the responding cops. If that's the case they need to get the right location and you don't want to open up for a BG's lookout/getaway driver.”
Only one cop entered the apartment. I was later told by neighbors that five police cars arrived. I only saw one other cop outside. The cop came in, turned his back on me (yes - I am still surprised by that 17 years later) and stepped on the bad guys neck. I turned the Ruger away from the cop and said "I'm going to put my gun away now." The cop said "OK." with his attention still on the bad guy and his back towards me. I went to the kitchen, and put the Ruger on top of the refrigerator. The entire event, from doorbell to the arrival of the police was probably around 10 minutes.
After the bad guy was cuffed, and hauled out, the cop asked if he had thrown anything down when I confronted him. I answered “no, he only had fingernail clippers he was using to pry at the weather stripping.” The cop said “If you don’t have anything I shouldn’t find, I would like to look around the immediate area.” My wife and I are both boring engineers, and have never had any involvement with drugs or illegal activities, so I gave him permission to look around the area, which apparently consisted of under the bed. The cop also stated “I am going to ask you a really stupid question because I have to. Is the person I arrested the guy that broke in your apartment?” He also asked several times if we knew him or if we had ever seen him (we hadn’t.) The cop later asked what kind of gun I had, and chuckled when I told him stating “that probably scared the … out of him.” Before he left the cop advised me that I should have shot the bad guy (this happened in Texas.)
The next day we got a call from a SGT or detective (maybe both, I can't remember) who asked if we knew the bad guy (we still didn’t) and if there was some brand of cigarette butt outside the window (there was, but nobody from the police dept ever came to retrieve it.) The bad guy had confessed to ~40 burglaries. He had been doing it about 10 years, starting in his teens. He was known as the panty burglar, because he always stole women’s underwear.
About nine months later the case came to trial. The bad guy’s lawyer had him all dressed up in a suit with a short haircut and a bow-tie! The resemblance to Pee Wee Herman was again remarkable, except the bad guy’s suit was not too small. When the bad guy saw my wife and I enter the court room, he turned his back to us, and literally backed up the aisle to his seat rather than face us. When we showed up, his hopes were dashed, as they pled guilty. The Assistant DA was an Asian woman who stated to the judge that the bad guy had pled guilty to our burglary, and that the DA’s office felt he had targeted my wife believing she lived alone, that I had recently returned from the war, and that he had confessed to another 40 burglaries. When the judge asked “what was stolen in these burglaries?” the DA puffed up and loudly stated “Women’s underwear!” The courtroom broke up in laughter as all the miscreants in cuffs awaiting their turn in front of the judge began to snicker. I swear that the bad guy shrank about 2” while the bad guys laughed.
The judge gave him 10 years probation, he had to pay a $50 per month probation supervisory fee, pay the apartment complex for the window, and enroll in the Baylor College of Medicine sexual offender’s treatment program. Some of you may think he got off easy, but I was satisfied.
After the trial, the SGT or detective who had called met us in the elevator. He was happy about the result and was happy that I had not shot the guy “when most people would have”
In retrospect: If he had not knocked, if there had not been a light outside illuminating him, if he had broken in faster, used a tool more dangerous than fingernail clippers or if he had not instantly complied with my orders, he probably would have gotten shot. If I had to do it again, I probably would have put on a different pair of pants, and maybe even a shirt. I am not sure I would change any of my other actions. We decided he probably had targeted our apartment, because my wife had decorated our door with a wreath and some dried flowers. It was obvious that a woman lived there. The wreath was down the next day.
